The Stars Above
It was the fourteenth of the seventh month in the nineteenth year in the middle of a starry, cloudy night. The world was sleeping or dozing in a contented haze. The lights in the streets were dim. There were few cars manoeuvring the single lane roads and one way streets. It was a world that wanted nothing more than rest.
All except in Block forty nine of the MediodÃa Quarter. There, in a quiet little house squeezed between others of the exact same obsessively precise appearance and layout there was a light on at a desk. It blazed across the room and the slanted roof. The bed was a mess and the wardrobe doors had been tightly pad locked shut. Clothes were strewn across the room.
A woman sat at her vanity chair. The erect backing was painted white with intricate little gold patterns. Her left arm was draped over it. She peered out over a wide windowsill covered completely in cushions. She had sat there for hours, as she always did when she could.
There was a slight buzzing in the background. The surveillance would no doubt be scanning her. She ignored it and chose to lean forward instead. There were stars aplenty in the vast darkness of the cosmos. She blinked softly as sleep cooed her name for the billionth or so time. A yawn swiftly followed. Her eyes began to droop.
Eventually, she glanced back. There was little time remaining before the alarm would be set. She shuffled on the cold, uncomfortable wooden seat. Her hands rubbed frantically on her lap. The brilliant cerulean of her eyes squeezed quickly shut. She uttered soundless words in a frenzy of desperation.
Then, she leaped to her feet. The roman blinds were hauled down. The chair was pushed back under the vanity. A flick of her wrist managed to shut off the brazen light in passing. The bed sighed as she landed on it. Her eyes peered up at the ceiling for a long moment as questions raced through to her core. Then, reluctantly, she drew the covers up and rolled onto her side.
A tiny sliver of light escaped into her room. It danced tantalisingly over a picture frame. The scar of light shattered any trace of her past self's companion. She sighed, drawing the covers higher. He still was absent without trace.
Author's Note: I suppose I just really wanted to write something without worrying about sequels and such. Although, having said that, I was reminded greatly of my dear Oblitus. However, I digress, that is not the point. This story has truly confused me. I first had thoughts of London, then, as with Vocaloid, of Japan. My selection of the word mediodÃa was entirely on purpose and I was aware when I searched for it that it was a Spanish word. My mind then took me to France. However, of all things, I choose the future. As such, consider it a Dystopia if you so wish. If you read Oblitus you may consider it to be one man's megalomania (or obsession). I like to leave you to your own thoughts.
Yes, I was IceMaidenofLegend. I am now, and forever, China Sorrows.